


Pretty Boy

by orphan_account



Category: House of 1000 Corpses (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Murder, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Pre-Canon, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4268901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>RJ gets to have some fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Rufus/OMC, slash, pre-House of a 1000 Corpses.

Johnny knew that what he was doing was dangerous. It wasn’t like he enjoyed it; it was just a steady job (no matter how bad the economy got, people always wanted to fuck) that earned him enough to get by. The photography job didn’t pay brilliantly, and he had a hard time selling his personal work—the problem was that there was nothing in or around Ruggsville that was actually worth photographing.

Usually, he’d hang around the truck stop. He was pretty enough to attract the attention of at least one or two sex-starved truckers, and on a good night, he could make his way home with up to $40 in his back pocket. But tonight, the truck stop was closed (someone had detonated a homemade bomb in the men’s room), so he’d ended up here instead.

It was run by a guy called Captain Spaulding who dressed up as a clown, and was a gas station that also doubled as a museum. The museum was all about freaks of nature, and there was even a ‘murder ride’, where, according to Captain Spaulding himself (Johnny had gone in to buy a pack of gum), you could learn all about famous murderers. Weird, but Johnny had seen weirder. Spaulding had even offered him a trip on the murder ride, but he’d politely refused.

The place was virtually deserted. So far, the only customers had been an elderly woman in a fur coat and a pair of cops on night patrol. Neither had even looked at the long-haired young man in the leather jacket hanging around near the front door, and Spaulding hadn’t come out and told him to fuck off (not yet, anyway), which he figured was a good sign.

He was about to give up and go home when a very old, very battered pick-up truck pulled up, and a young man got out. He was big—no, not just big, huge; he towered over Johnny, and he was built like a linebacker. His hair was long and dark brown, and he had the stubbly beginnings of a beard. He was wearing worn-out bluejeans and a red chequered button-up; the arms of the shirt had been cut off at the shoulders, leaving it sleeveless and exposing a pair of tanned, powerful, muscular arms. He filled the truck’s tank and was just heading inside to pay when he noticed the young man at the door. Johnny smiled winningly.

“Hey there, big guy,” he said. “Nice truck.”

The big guy looked back at his truck, which looked as if, by all laws of nature, it shouldn’t have been holding together any more, then back at Johnny, his expression unreadable. Johnny was about to try another line when he spoke.

“How much?”

Johnny blinked and cleared his throat.

“$5.00 for a blowjob or handjob,” he said, speaking lowly so that Spaulding couldn’t hear them. “$10.00 if you wanna go all the way.”

The big young man appeared to consider this.

“If I give you fifty, will you come home with me?” he asked.

“Fifty?” Johnny echoed, stunned. “Well…do you live far?”

The big guy shook his head.

“Coupl’a miles up the road. You can stay the night, if you want.”

That wasn’t bad. He could easily hitch a ride back to Ruggsville in the morning, and if there was any trouble…well, he was a pretty fast runner. And what was the worst that could happen?

The truck smelled of whiskey and old cigarette smoke, and something else that Johnny couldn’t identify. The original seats were missing, and had been replaced by an old chintz sofa that looked as if it had been salvaged from a junkyard.

“So, you got a name?” Johnny asked.

“Rufus Firefly Junior.”

“Rufus Firefly? Like the old Marx brothers picture?”

“Guess so. Mama calls me RJ, but you can call me Rufus.”

Outside, it had started raining. The sound of the raindrops drumming against the truck’s roof was an oddly comforting one.

“I’m Johnny,” Johnny said. Rufus nodded and didn’t ask for his surname. “So do you live alone?”

“No. It’s me, mama, Grampa, Baby, Tiny an Otis.”

“Baby and Tiny?”

“My sister an brother. I guess you’d call Otis adopted.”

“Huh. OK. And how do the Fireflies make their living?”

“Pig farmin.”

The Fireflies’ house was a ramshackle old wood-and-brick structure. Johnny looked around as they got out, but he couldn’t see any pigs; perhaps they were all locked up in their sty, or wherever you kept pigs.

He followed Rufus inside. The house was dimly-lit and untidy; in what Johnny guessed was the living room, the TV was on.

“RJ?” a female voice called out. “Is that my RJ?”

“Yes, mama,” Rufus called back. He was pulling his boots off. “I filled the truck up.”

“Good boy. Come on through, honey, we’re just watching a movie.”

Rufus strode into the living room, Johnny meekly trailing him. There were two women in here, both blonde and both substantially smaller than Rufus. One was young, barely more than a girl; Johnny guessed that this was Baby. The other—mama—was sitting on the couch, wearing a rather extravagant coat. She turned to greet her son, and when she saw Johnny, she smiled.

“Well, what do we have here? Is this lovely young gentleman a friend of yours, RJ?” She stood gracefully, crossing to Johnny.

“Yes, mama. He works at the gas station. Part-time.”

“John Haileybury, Mrs Firefly,” Johnny said politely, extending a hand. Mama took it and squeezed it lightly. Rufus went into the kitchen to fetch some beer, and Johnny sat down, perching awkwardly on the edge of an armchair. He wondered if Baby would say anything, but she didn’t. She seemed much more preoccupied with the movie.

 

Thirty minutes and two beers later, Johnny could already feel himself starting to relax. He half-watched the movie (some god-awful sci-fi picture from the ’50s called The Crawling Eye), half-listened to mama talking about the family’s history. He discovered that, when he was young, Rufus’ brother Tiny had been horrifically burned by a fire started by his father (“Now I don’t think Earl ever meant to hurt us, you understand, he just went strange on us”), and was now effectively deaf-mute. He also learned about how Otis, then a starving runaway, had been taken in by the Fireflies and treated as one of their own.

Johnny was starting to think that the Fireflies weren’t so bad. Yes, they may have been weird reclusive pig farmers, but they didn’t seem dangerous. He hadn’t seen Otis or Grampa yet. Tiny, who was even taller than Rufus, had silently shuffled through at one point. He had briefly stopped in the kitchen doorway to examine Johnny, head tilted; Johnny had simply smiled politely and nodded. According to mama, Grampa was asleep, and Otis was holed up in his room, like he usually was.

“Is he a hobbyist?” Johnny asked. “Like a model train enthusiast?” At this, Baby had uttered a high-pitched giggle. Johnny had ignored it—she struck him as a very strange woman.

“Yes, it’s sort of like that,” mama had replied.

Another ad break started. Rufus stood up.

“We’re going upstairs now,” he announced.

“OK. Don’t make too much noise, will you, boys? Else you’ll just wake up Grampa and put Otis on edge.”

“No, mama, we won’t. Come on, Johnny.”

Rufus’ bedroom was just as dark and untidy as the rest of the house, but Johnny was willing to ignore that. Fifty bucks was fifty bucks, and Rufus hadn’t asked him to do anything weird (not yet, anyway). He was taking a shine to the big, grave young man. He wasn’t as mean-spirited as most of his clients; Johnny guessed that, living this far out of the way with just his family for company, Rufus was just as keen for a little companionship as he was for sex. Maybe, after this, they’d see each other again—get a few beers, perhaps. That would be nice. Hell, in his own way, he was even kinda cute.

Rufus put his big rough hands on Johnny’s hips and kissed him, bending at the waist. He smelled of motor oil and beer, and Johnny kissed him back. Rufus led him to the bed and stripped him down. He seemed hypnotised by Johnny’s body; his lips formed a small ‘o’ shape, and he was studying Johnny’s prone form with an odd intensity.

“Like what you see?” Johnny asked, smiling coyly. Rufus grinned hugely. “Do I get a look at you?”

“Not yet.”

“Aww, are you shy?” Normally Johnny wouldn’t tease his clients like this, but Rufus felt like something more than a client. He had taken him home, drank with him, introduced him to his family…he felt as if he were being courted. It was nice, in some strange way. Every once in a while he would get a client who treated him like a human being, not just a means of getting their rocks off, and it made a nice change.

“Maybe. Turn over. All fours.” Johnny did as he was told. There was a pause, and then he felt something pressing up against him. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Rufus pushed in, pressing his face against the pillow; Rufus was big. Enormous, in fact. It didn’t take long for Rufus to start thrusting, and when he did, it hurt like hell. Almost involuntarily, Johnny let out a yelp of pain.

“Rufus, wait—I think I’m—”

“Shut up,” Rufus said, thrusting harder. Johnny let out another cry of pain.

“Rufus, please, you’re too big. Please stop a minute, I need to—”

“I told you to shut up!” Rufus bellowed, his bass voice echoing around the room. Johnny tried to wriggle out from underneath him, but it was no use. He had him pinned. He sobbed, beginning to cry out for help, hoping that someone—Mrs Firefly, Baby, Otis, fuck, even Grampa—might hear, but Rufus shoved two thick fingers into his mouth, silencing him. He felt as if he were being ripped apart. _It’s alright_ , his mind whispered hysterically. _It’s alright, it’ll all be over soon…_

“Rufus, what in the hell is all this goddamned noise about?” a rough male voice asked, and Johnny wanted to cry from relief. It would be Otis or Grampa, one of the men, and maybe they would be able to stop Rufus—

“Found him at Captain Spaulding’s,” Rufus declared. He sounded like a little boy telling his friend about a rare baseball card he’d found. Johnny heard footsteps, and then there was a man standing in front of him. His eyes widened slightly; he guessed, going purely on age, that this was Otis. He was as white as a ghost, and his hair was yellow-white, long and straggly. He reached out and began to fondle Johnny’s face with harsh, cold fingers. “He’s a whore. Name’s Johnny. Told him I’d pay him fifty if he came home with me.”

“A whore, huh? You like sucking cock, Johnny-boy?” Otis began to unzip his pants, and Johnny panicked. _No, no, this can’t be happening, please…_

Rufus removed his fingers, but held Johnny’s mouth open. Otis slid his cock in; Johnny could feel it hardening against his tongue. He wanted to bite down, but at the same time, who knows what they might do to him then? After a while, Otis thrust all the way down his throat, and Johnny began to cough and gag and retch. He felt like he was going to vomit.

“My little brother was gettin jealous,” Otis remarked. “Said it wasn’t far that me an Baby got to have all the fun. So we told him to pick up whoever he wanted to, an it looks like he picked well.” Rufus laughed at this. There were tears streaming down Johnny’s cheeks now. He should have just gone home, or persuaded Rufus to just let him give him a handjob in the bathroom. Stupid, stupid, stupid— Otis was coming. He stayed where he was the whole time, forcing Johnny to swallow every wretched drop, then pulled out and tucked his cock away, zipping himself back up. Rufus was still buried inside him, but Johnny was used to the pain by now. He looked up blearily at Otis, tears still flowing freely.

“Please,” he begged, his voice hoarse. “I promise I won’t tell anyone, please just don’t hurt me. I’ll do whatever you want me to. You don’t even have to pay me. Just don’t hurt me.”

“Easy there, Johnny-boy. We ain’t gonna hurt ya,” Otis said, as Rufus grabbed his old straight-edge razor from next to the bed and slid it under Johnny’s chin. Johnny was too tired and broken to even notice it. He smiled at Otis’ words, thinking that maybe things would be alright after all, and he was still smiling as Rufus sliced his throat open in one clean movement.

For John Quentin Haileybury, nineteen and a half, the end was mercifully quick. It didn’t even hurt; the blade was too sharp for that. As he bled out on the mattress, his image of Otis B. Driftwood began to blur until he was just a fuzzy white shape. The last thing he was ever conscious of was of Rufus grunting loudly, finally releasing inside of him. And then nothing.

 

_…And in local news, another disappearance. Nineteen-year-old John Haileybury has been reported missing by his roommate, twenty-two-year-old Robert Moseley, after failing to return home after leaving their apartment on Tuesday evening at approximately 9:30 p.m. He was last seen near a gas station outside of the town. He is five feet and ten inches tall, with long red hair, blue eyes, and a tattoo of a rose on his left shoulder. He was last seen wearing a grey t-shirt, bluejeans, a black leather jacket, and white Adidas sneakers. If you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, please contact the Ruggsville Police Department._


End file.
